網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

Beauty is weak, and paffion bold and ftrong-
O then-but modefty reftrains my tongue.
May this night's bard a fkilful taylor be,
And like a well-made coat his tragedy.
Tho' clofe, yet cafy; decent, but not dull;
Short, but not fcanty; without buckram, full.

$73 Epilogue to the English Mercbant; 1767.
GARRICK.
Enter Lady Alton [Mrs. Abinson] in a passion;
: Spatter [Mr. King] following.

L. Alton. I'LL hear no more, thou wretch!
Spatter. And to reafon !

L. Alton. A woman of my rank, 'tis
treafon !
Hear reafon, blockhead! reafon! what is that?
Bid me wear pattens and a high-crown'd hat!
Won't you begone? What, won't you? What's
your view?

Sparter. A tinging-nettle for his lordship's
breaft:

And to my ftars and dafhes leave the reft.
I'll make them mitcrable, never fear;
Pout in a month, and part in half a year.
I know my genius, and can trust my plan;
I'll break a woman's heart with any man.
L. Alton. Thanks, thanks, dear Spatter ! be
fevere and bold!

Spatter. No qualms of confcience with a purse
of gold.

Tho' pill'ries threaten, and tho' crab-sticks fall, Yours are my heart, foul, pen, cars, bones, and all. [Exit Spatter

Lady Alton alone.

pettyThus to the winds at once my cares I fcatter-
O, 'tis a charming rafcal, this fame Spatter !
His precious mifchief makes the ftorin fubfide!
My anger, thank my stars! all rofe f.om pride?
Pride fhould belong to us alone of fathion
And let the mod take love, that vulgar paffion-
Love, pity, tenderness, are only made
For poets, Abigails, and folks in trade.
Some cits about their feelings make a fuss,

Spatter. Humbly to ferve the tuneful nine in you

L. Aton. I renounce fuch things;

Not Phoebus now, but vengeance, fweeps the And fome are better bred-who live with us.

ftrings:

My mind is difcord all !—I fcorn, deteft
All human kind-you more than all the reft.
Spatter. I humbly thank you, Ma'am-but
weigh the matter.

L. Alton. I won't hear reafon! and I hate you,
Spatter !

Myfelf, and ev'ry thing.

Spatter. That I deny;

You love a little mischief, fo do I;
And mifchief I have for you.

L. Alten. How? where when?

Will you ftab Falbridge?

Spatter, Yes, Ma'am-with my pen.

How low Lord Falbridge is !-He takes a wife,
To love, and cherish, and be fix'd for life!
Thinks marriage is a comfortable state,
No pleasure like a vartuous téte à tête !
Do our lords juftice, for I would not wrong 'cm,
There are not many fuch poor fouls among 'em.
Our turtles from the town will fly with speed,
And I foretel the vulgar life they'll lead.
With love and cafe grown fat, they face all weather,
And, farmers both, trudge arm in arm together.
Now view their stock, now in their nursery prattle,
For ever with their children or their cattle.
Like the dull mill-horte in one round they keep;
They walk, talk, fondle, dine, and fall aileep;

L. Alton. Let loofe, my Spatter, till to death" Their custom always in the afternoon--"

you've frung 'em,

That green-eyed monster, jealoufy, among 'em.
Spatter. To dafh at all, the fpirit of my trade is,
Men, women, children, parfons, lords, and ladies.
There will be danger.

[Gives it him.

L. Alton. And there fhall be pay-
Take my purfe, Spatter !
Spatter. In an honest way.

[Smiles, and takes it.
L. Alton. Should my lord beat you-
Spatter. Let them laugh that win:

For all my bruifes here's gold-beaters skin!
[Chinking the purfe.
L. Alton. Nay, fhould he kill you!
Spatter. Ma'am?

L.. Alton. My kindness meant
To pay your merit with a monument!
Spatter. Your kindness, lady, takes away my
breath :

We'll ftop, with your good leave, on this file death.
L. Alton. Attack Amelia, both in verfe and profe,
Your wit can make a nettle of a rofe.

He bright as Sol, and fhe the chafte full moon!
Wak'd with her coffee, Madam first begins,
She rubs her eyes, his lordship rubs his thins;
She fips and imirks-" Next week's our wed-
66 ding-day,

"Married feven years!- -and ev'ry hour more
"gay!"
[Yawns.

"True, Einmy," cries my lord, "the "bletting

lies,

[blocks in formation]

74. Epilogue to Zenobia; 1768. Spoken by Mrs. § 75. Epilogue Spoken by Mrs. Pritchard, on ber Abington. GARRICK. quitting the Stage; 1768. GARRICK.

[She peeps through the curtain.

How do you all, good folks?-In tears, for THE curtain dropt-my mimic life is paft,

certain;

I'll only take a peep behind the curtain:
You're all fo full of tragedy and fadness,
For me to come among you, would be madness!
This is no time for giggling-when you've lei-
fure,

Call out for me, and I'll attend your pleasure ;
As foldiers hurry at the beat of drum,
Beat but your hands, that inftant I will come.
[She enters upon their clapping.
This is fo good! to call me out fo foon-
The Comic Mufe by me entreats a boon ;
She call'd for Pritchard, her first maid of honour,
And begg'd of her to take the task upon her;
But she, I'm fure you'll all be forry for 't,
Refigns her place, and foon retires from court:
To bear this lofs we courtiers make a shift,
When good folks leave us, worfe may have a lift.
The Comic Mufe whofe ev'ry fimile is grace,
And her stage fifter, with her tragic face,
Have had a quarrel-each has writ a cafe;
And on their friends affembled now I wait,
To give you of their diff'rence a true state.
Melpomene complains, when the appears,
For five good acts, in all her pomp of tears,

}

That scene of fleep and terror was my last
Could I in fuch a scene my exit make,
When ev'ry real feeling is awake?
Which beating here, fuperior to all art,
Burfts in full tides from a moft grateful heart.
I now appear myself, diftrefs'd, difmay'd,
More than in all the characters I've play'd;
In acted paffion, tears may SEEM to flow,
"But I have that within that palleth show."

Before I go, and this lov'd spot forfake,
What gratitude can give, my wishes, take:
Upon your hearts may no affliction prey,
Which cannot by the ftage be chas'd away;
And may the stage, to please each virtuous mind,
Grow ev'ry day more moral, more refin'd,
Refin'd from groffnefs, not by foreign skill:
Weed out the poison, but be English still !

To all my brethren whom I leave behind,
Still may your bounty, as to me, be kind;
To me for many years your favours flow'd,
Humbly receiv'd-on fmall defert beftow'd;
For which I feel—what cannot be exprefs'd—
Words are too weak-my tears must speak the rest

To raise your fouls, and with your raptures § 76. Prologue to the Good-natured Man; 1768.

wing 'em,

Nay, wet your handkerchiefs, that you may

wring 'em

Some flippant huffey, like myself, comes in;
Crack goes her fan, and with a giggling grin,
"Hey! Prefto! pafs!"-all topfy-turvy fee,
For "ho, ho, ho!" is chang'd to "he, he, he !"
We own'd the fault, but 'tis a fault in vogue;
'Tis theirs who call and bawl for-Epilogue!
O, fhame upon you!-for the time to come,
Know better, and go miferable home.
What fays our comic goddess-With reproaches,
She vows her fifter tragedy encroaches!
And, fpite of all her virtue and ambition,
Is known to have an amorous difpofition!
For in Falfe Delicacy-wondrous fly,
Join'd with a certain Irishman-O fre!
She made you, when you ought to laugh, to cry.
Her fifter's fimiles with tears the tried to fmother,
Rais'd fuch a tragi-comic kind of pother,
You laugh'd with one eye, while you cried
with t'other.

What can be done?-fad work behind the scenes!
There comic females fcold with tragic queens ;
Each party diff'rent ways the foe affails,
Thefe shake the daggers, thofe prepare their nails.
'Tis you alone muft calm these dire mishaps,
Or we shall ftill continue pulling caps.
What is your will-I read it in your faces,
That all hereafter take their proper places,
Shake hands, and kifs, and friends, and burn
their cafes.

JOHNSON.
PREST by the load of life, the weary mind
Surveys the gen'ral toil of human kind,
With cool fubmiffion joins the lab'ring train,
And focial forrow lofes half its pain;
Our anxious bard without complaint may share
This bustling season's epidemic care;
Like Cæfar's pilot dignified by fate,
Toft in one common storm with all the great ;
Diftreft alike the statesman and the wit,
When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit.
The bufy candidates for power and fame
Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the fame;
Difabled both to combat, or to fly,

Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply.
Uncheck'd on both loud rabbles vent their rage,
As mongrels bay the lion in a cage.

Th' offended burgefs hoards his angry tale,
For that bleft year when all that vote may rail;
Their fchemes of fpite the poet's foes difmifs,
Till that glad night when all that hate may hifs.

"This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,"
Says fwelling Crifpin, "begg'd a cobler's vote;"
"This night our wit," the pert apprentice cries,
"Lies at my feet; I hifs him, and he dies."
The great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing tribe;
The bard may fupplicate, but cannot bribe.
Yet judg'd by those whofe voices ne'er were fold,
He feels no want of all-perfuading gold;
But confident of praise, if praise be due,
Trufts without fear to merit and to you.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

To deal with ftubborn fcribblers-there's the curfe. Write moral plays-the blockhead !—why, good people,

You'll foon expect this houfe to wear a freeple!
For our fine piece, to let you into facts,
Is quite a fermon-only preach'd in acts.
You'll fcarce believe me, till the proof appears;
But even I, Tom Fool, muft fhed some tears:
Do, ladies, look upon me-nay, no fimpering;
Think you this face was ever made for whimp'ring?
Can I a cambric handkerchief display,
Thump my unfeeling breast, and roar away?
Why this is comical, perhaps you'll fay.
Refolving this ftrange awkward bard to pump,
I ak'd him what he meant ?-He, fomewhat
plump,

}

New purs'd his belly, and his lips thus biting I must keep up the dignity of writing!""You may, but if you do, Sir, I must tell ye, "You'll not keep up that dignity of belly.' Still he preach'd on" Bards of a former age "Held up abandon'd pictures on the stage; “Spread out their wit, with fascinating art, "And catch'd the fancy, to corrupt the heart: "But, happy change! in thefe more moral days, "You cannot fport with virtue, even in plays; "On virtue's fide his pen the poet draws, "And boldly afks a hearing for his caufe." Thus did he prance and fwell.--The man may prate, And feed these whimsies in his addle pate, That you'll protect his Mufe because the's good: A virgin, and fo chafte !-O lud! O lud! No Mufe the critic beadle's lash escapes; Though virtuous, if a dowdy and a trapes: If his come forth a decent likely lafs, You'll speak her fair, and grant the proper pafs: Or fhould his brain be turn'd with wild pretences, In three hours time you'll bring him to his fenfes; And well you may, when in your pow'r you get

him;

In that short space, you blister, bleed, and sweat him.

Among the Turks, indeed, he'd run no danger; They facred hold a madman and a stranger.

§78. Scrub's Trip to the Jubilee; 1769. Spoken by Mr. Wefton.

Firft, fomething, in lingo of fchools call'd an ode;
All critics, they told me, allow'd very good:
One faid-you may take it for truth, I affure ye,
'Twas made by the little great man of old Drury,
By my brother Martin (for whofe fake, d'ye hear?)
This night I'd a mind for a touch at Shakspeare
But, honeftly fpeaking, I take more delight in
A bit of good fun, than drums, trumpets, and
fighting.

The proceffion, 'twas said, would have been a fine train,

But could not move forward-O la!-fortherain!
Such tragical, comical folks, and fo fine-
What pity it was that the fun did not shine"
Since ladies, and baronets, aldermen, 'fquires,
All went to this Jubilee full of defires,
In crowds, as they go for to fee a new play;
And when it was done-why, they all came away!
Don't let me forget-a main part of the fhow,
Was long-tail'd fine comets, by fam'd Angelo.
But honeft roaft beef's the beft turtle for me.
Some turtle I got, which they call pafbapee;
I hate all ragouts ; and, like a bold Briton,
Prefer good plum-pudding to aught I e'er bit on.
I drank too (and now I a poet may be)
From a charming fine cup of the mulberry tree.
To bed I muft go-for which, like a ninny,
I paid, like my betters, no lefs than a guinea,
As ftruck iny great toe, ever fince, with the cramp.
For rolling-not fleeping-in linen fo damp,
Thus fleec'd-in my pocket I felt a great Linart-
ing,

Yet griev'd not when I and the splinters were
parting,

'Twas worth ten times more to hear sweet bro

ther Martin.

[blocks in formation]

FROM Stratford arriv'd-piping hot-gentle- YOUR fervant, kind mafters, from bottom to top.

folks,

From the rarest of shows, and most wonderful jokes,

Your fimple acquaintance, Scrub, comes to declare,
Twas fuller, by far, than our Litchfield great fair;
Such crowds of fine ladies, ferenading and finging,
Such firing of loud patereroes, and ringing→
To tell it in London, muft seem all a fable;
And yet I will tell it as well as I'm able.

Be ailur'd, while I breathe, or can stand-I

[blocks in formation]

* This alludes to Mr. Wefton's defign of playing Richard.

You

You all have a right your fweet muscles to curl, | Old finners, loving the licentious joke,
From the old fmirking prude to the tittling young
girl;

And ever with pleasure my brains I could spin,
To make you all giggle, and you, ye gods, grin.
In this prefent fummer, as well as the patt,
Το your favour again we prefent Dr. Laft,
Who, by wonderful feats, in the papers recounted,
From trudging on foot to his chariot is mounted.
Amongst the old Britons when war was begun,
Charioteers would flay ten, while the foot could
flay one.

So when doctors on wheels with dispatches are fent,
Mortality bills rife a thousand per cent.
But think not to phyfic that quackery 's confin'd;
All the world is a ftage, and the quacks are man-
kind:

There's trade, law, and ftate quacks; nay, would
we but fearch,

We fhould find---Heaven blefs us !---fome quacks
in the church!

The ftiff-band and stiff-bob of the Methodist race,
Give the balfam of life and the tincture of grace;
And their poor wretched patients think much good
is done 'em,

Tho' blifters and cauftics are ever upon 'em.
As for laws and the ftate, if quackery's a curfe,
Which will make the good bad, and the bad will
make worfe,

We fhould point out the quack from the regular
brother;

They are wifer than I who can tell one from t'other!
Can the ftage, with its bills, puffs, and patients,
stand trial?

Shall we find out no quacks in the Theatre-Royal
Some dramatical drugs, that are puff'd on the town,
Caufe many wry faces, and fcarce will go down.
Nay, an audience fometimes will in quack'ry de-
light,

And fweat down an author fome pounds in one
night.

To return to our quack---should he, help'd by the

weather,

Raife laughter, and kind perfpiration, together;
Should his noftrums of hip and of vapours but

cure ye,

His chariot he well can deferve, I affure ye:
'Tis eafy to fet up a chariot in town,
And easier ftill is that chariot laid down.
He petitions by me, both as doctor and lover,
That you'll not stop his wheels, or his chariot tip

over.

Fix him well, I beseech you; the worst on't would be,
Should you overturn him, you may over fet me.

|

May think there wants too, here and there, aftroke;
Round oaths and double meanings ftrew'd between,
With them the virtues of the comic scene.
And yet the town in gen'ral is so nice,
It holds thefe virtuos as a kind of vice:
From the teeth outwards chafte, their hands be-
fore 'em,

Like reps, even demi-reps, are all decorum.
Tho' grofs their thoughts, fo delicate their hearing,
They think the very stage should fine for fwearing.
Our author therefore fcrupled to employ
Your vulgar Damme, Sir! and Damme, boy!
Nay, when by chance a naughty joke came pat in,
He wrapt it up, you know, in lawyers Latin.
So much refin'd the fcene fince former days,
When Congreve, Vanburgh, Wycherly, wrote
plays,

"The ftage fo loosely did Aftrca tread,
"She fairly put all characters to bed."
Tho' now no bard would venture to depofit
A inacaroni in a lady's clofet;

Left the frail fair-one he be thought to ruin,
"While moon and ftars alone" ice what they're
doing.

In the old plays, gallants take no denial,
But put the ftruggling actress to the trial.
Bless me! I fhudder even now to think,
How near myself may come to danger's brink!
In modern plays more fafe the female ftation,
Secure as our fad folemn fituation !
No rakish forward fpark dares now be rude,
The Comic Muse herself grown quite a prude!
No wonder, then, if in fo pure an age
No Congreves write for a demure a stage!

§ 81. Prologue to the School for Rakes; 1774Spoken by Mr. King.

GARRICK.

THE fcribbling gentry, ever frank and free,
To fweep the ftage with prologues, fix on me.
A female reprefentative I come,

}

And with a prologue, which I call a broom,
To fweep the critic cobwebs from the room.
Critics, like spiders, into corners creep,
And at new plays their bloody revels keep.
With fome finall venom clofe in ambush lie,
Ready to feize the poor dramatic fly:
The weak and heedlefs foon become their prey,
But the ftrong blue-bottle will force its way,
Clean well its wings, and hum another day.
Unknown to nature's laws, we've here one evil,
For flies, turn'd fpiders, play the very devil!
Fearing fome danger, I will lay before ye
A short, true, recent, tragic-comic story.
As late I faunter'd in the Park for air,

So. Epilogue to the Duellift; 1773. Spoken by As free from thought as any coxcomb there,

Mifs Barfanti.

SO, men of valour! you diflike our play:
Nothing against it do the ladies fay.
To own they're pleas'd the critics ever loth,
Mutter, "A Duellift, with scarce an oath!

'Tis like his hat that was without a feather; "Duels and Dammes always go together."

Two fparks came up; one whisper'd in my car,
He was a critic; then afk'd me, with a fncer---
Thus ftanding,ftaring--with afwaggering fwing
"You've writ a farce?"--" Yes, Sir, a foolish

[blocks in formation]

1

[merged small][ocr errors]

"I fcribble for amusement, boast no pow'rs." Right, for your own amufement---not for ours." Thus he went on; and with his pleasant talking, I lost the appetite I got with walking.

Our landlords are game-cocks, and fair play but

grant 'em,

I'll warrant you paftime from each little bantam. Let's return to the punch--I hope, from my foul, That now the old Magpye may fell you a bowl: We have all forts and fizes, a quick trade to drive, As one fhilling, two fhilling, three fhilling, five: In this town of Stratford we'll have each ingredient, obedient.

He laugh'd---I bow'd---but, ere I could retreat, His lifping friend did thus the dofe repeat: Pray, Sir---this School for Rakes---the wo-Befide a kind welcome from me, your "man's play[turday; I'll now fqueeze my fruit, put fugar and rum in, "When do you give it us?" Next Sa And be back in a moment [Bell rings] A comI hope you'll both be kind to her, at least." ing, a coming, a cothing! "A fcribbling woman is a dreadful beaft !--

Then they're fo ugly, all thefe female wits--"I'll damn her play---to throw Her into fits. "Had I my will, thofe flattern fluttish dames--They all fhould fee the bottom of the Thames." If you are here, good Sirs, to breed a riot,

[Looking about the house. Don't fhew your fpite; for if you are not quiet, 'Tis ten to bne---I fpeak it for your fake, This School for Rakes will prove your Wits laft Stake:

As you [To the pit] fave me from their tyrannic will,

You will not let them ufe a woman ill.
Protect her and her brat---the truly brave
Women and children will for ever fave.

come:

§ 82. Prologue to the Jubilee; 1769. Spoken by Mr. King, in the Character of a Waiter. GARRICK. FROM London, your honours, to Stratford I'm [Tom; I'm a waiter, your honours; you know bustling Who, proud of your orders, and bowing before yc, Till fupper is ready, I'll tell you a story. 'Twixt Hounslow and Colnbrooke, two houfes of fame, [by name: Well known on that road, the Two Magpyes The one of long ftanding, the other a new one; This boafts it's the old one, and that it's the true

[blocks in formation]

'Tis faid the old houfe hath poffefs'd a receipt To make a choice mixture of four, ftrong, and fweet;

A Jubilee punch, which, right fkilfully made, Infur'd the old Magpye a good running trade: But think you we mean to monopolize ---No, no, We are like brother Afhley, pro publico bono. Each Magpye, your honours, will peck at his brother, [other. And their natures were always to crib froin each Young landlords and old ones are taught by their calling

To laugh at engroffing---but practife forestalling.

§ 83. Prologue to the Chriftmas Tale; 1774. GARRICK.

Mufic plays, and enter feveral perfons with dif ferent kinds of dishes.

Enter Mr. Palmer in the character of Christmas. on--prepare my bounty for my friends, And fee that Mirth, with all her crew, at tends.

To the Audience.

Behold a perfonage, well known to fame,
Once lov'd and honour'd-Chriftmas is my
My officers of ftate my tafte difplay; [name!
Cooks, feullions, paftry-cooks, prepare my way;
Holly and ivy round nie honours fpread,
And my retinue fhew---I'm not iil-fed ;
Minc'd pies, by way of belt, my breast divide,
And a large carving-knife adorns my fide;
'Tis no fop's weapon, 'twill be often drawn:
This turban for my head---is collar'd brawn.
Tho' old, and white my locks, my cheeks are
cherry;
[merry;
Warm'd by good fires, good cheer, I'm always
With carrol, fiddle, dance, and pleafant tale,
Jeft, gibe, prank, gambol, mummery, and ale,
English hearts rejoic'd in days of yore;
For new ftrange modes, imported by the fcore,
You will not fure turn Christmas out of door!
Suppofe yourfelves well feated by a fire,
(Stuck clofe, you feem more warm than you
defire)

Old Father Chriftmas, now in all his glory,
Begs with kind hearts you'll liften to his story
Clear well your thoughts from politics and fpleen,
Hear my tale out, fee all that's to be feen.
Take care, my children, that you well behave---
You, Sir, in blue red cape, not quite fo grave:
That critic there in black---fo ftern and thin,
Before you frown, pray let the tale begin-
You in the crimfoa capuchin, I fear you;
Why, Madam, at this time fo crofs appear you ?
Excufe me, pray---I did not fee your husband

near you.

[blocks in formation]
« 上一頁繼續 »